


Last Legend

by faufaren



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Constructs, Crossover, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Not Canon Compliant, Past Character Death, Post-Apocalypse, Tragedy, a bit of shadow of the colossus, also i didn't watch all of shippudden, lots of author's made up bullshit, other pairings to be determined, sasuke is a grouchy old man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 14:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14917394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faufaren/pseuds/faufaren
Summary: After waking to to a world on the brink of apocalypse and accidentally getting a job to mentor a bunch of snot-nosed child soldiers with superpowers, Sasuke is just trying his best to get by.AU inspired by that anime/light novel with the ridiculously long title: What Do You Do at the End of the World? Are You Busy? Will You Save Us?





	1. The Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This will feel, at times, like an incredibly well-realized world that the writer just isn't explaining fast enough.

The first thing Genesis thinks when he sees the new Mentor is _young_. The unfamiliar man in the military fatigues can’t have been much older than Genesis himself. 

(It’s a new Mentor, yet another one, in a long procession of so-called Mentors sent by the military. They certainly try their best, each in their own ways, teaching and training them. A handful of them had been bearable; most were disastrous—no surprise there, when they were individuals sent compliments of the army. 

Genesis didn’t care. They had Aerith—kind and gentle and endlessly patient, who's been with them since forever. They all thought she was the best thing to have ever happened to them. Aerith takes care of them, tends to the children. Genesis, Angeal, and Sephiroth––they can train them. They’ve been at it long enough that most people the military sends don’t know what to do with them anymore, it’s not like there’s anything to be learned about the Artifacts than the wielders themselves don’t already know. This new Mentor will fade away soon enough; a mere blip in time.) 

When Genesis, Angeal, and Sephiroth are formally introduced to the man, Genesis realizes with a bit of amusement that the man––Sasuke Uchiha; a peculiar name (though there is something vaguely familiar about that name, as if he’d heard it before but can’t quite recall where)––is much shorter than all of them. The top of his head barely clears their chins. 

He comes away from the encounter a bit bewildered, unimpressed, and somewhat disappointed. 

_This_ was the man who would be tending to the sanctuary while he and the others go to the frontier? The man who would teach and guide the young ones? From the brief minutes he’d been in Uchiha’s presence, Genesis had seen nothing but dull apathy and a vague constant of mild irritation. Genesis can hardly imagine the man being able to tolerate children, much less properly care for them. 

The military hadn’t disappointed in the least this time either, sending them yet another incompetent Mentor. Gods, he didn’t see the man so much as crack a smile the entire time. 

(Sasuke Uchiha doesn’t look so young anymore, now that Genesis has gotten a closer look at him. The man is still all perfect fair skin and delicate infrastructure—for a man, anyway—contrasted by rich raven black hair, and stark military uniform that is obviously tailored to fit… but his eyes. 

Or rather, his _eye_. The other one is covered by an eye patch that’s nearly hidden by the man’s long bangs, that Genesis only glimpses when he turns his head and there is just a small moment in which the midnight strands slip out of place. 

His eye, deep and dark as the bottomless abyss, is ancient. Tired. The man looks at everything as if he had seen it all before, gone through the motions so much that all feeling has been stripped away from it, operating by pure muscle memory alone. When Genesis sees Sasuke Uchiha, he feels as though he were standing in the presence of a once-great war general, his veteran’s experience dwarfing Genesis’ meager handful of years by far. 

It’s bizarre, when he gets all that from a face that looks no younger than his own, a man half a head shorter.) 

“Alright, show me your Artifacts.” 

Uchiha says it like it’s a chore, something to be checked off on a list. He stares at them all through a dispassionate film, hands tucked into his pockets in a strangely casual way, the wrinkles forming at the sides of his stark jacket out of place. The gesture looks oddly _juvenile_ , as do the wild tufts that stick out at the back of that head of raven hair. The longer Genesis looks at him, the more Sasuke Uchiha seems to be a study in contradictions. 

(He wears the uniform awkwardly, Genesis realises now, as if unused to wearing such a form-fitting, stiff costume. He looks like he wants to fidget, but ingrained training has him standing straight and still. He looks like he hates it. 

A sleeve hangs suspiciously loose, dangling limply from its socket, and Genesis wonders critically why the army had sent them an amputee this time.) 

None of them really want to show off their Artifacts, to be put on display in front of this stranger. Because their weapons, for all that they’ve been using them—have been watched and studied using them—are still an intimidate, volatile, sacrificial piece of themselves that’s soft and vulnerable and to be protected. 

Because of this, Genesis bristles, magic spiking along with his indignation. How dare this man waltz right into their home and simply _demand_ to see their Artifacts without any preamble, as though he had a right to it? 

The other two do nothing to hold him back, content to simply watch Genesis lash out at the new military Mentor, standing at either side in silent support. Uchiha doesn’t even blink when faced by Genesis’ ire. He stares stone-faced at the taller redhead, an immovable and unfeeling pillar in the midst of a firestorm. 

In the end, it’s Aerith who comes, who saves them all before the situation could get any more tense and loaded, like a landmine rigged to explode. 

She smiles and talks and even this man named Uchiha seems to be unable to resist the full weight of her special brand of charm. There’s a comment about dinner being ready. Uchiha looks more or less as comfortable about joining them for dinner as the rest of them before making an excuse about eating before coming here and retires to his room. 

“He’ll be gone soon enough,” concludes Sephiroth quietly, as they stare warily at the man’s retreating back.

* * *

They are powerful. The three he’d met this morning had been on a level of their own, but even the little ones who haven’t yet named their Artifacts are exceptionally potent. They all oozed magic. 

Sasuke makes a note to himself to tell these kids how to stop leaking magic everywhere as soon as possible. He can’t imagine how the Sanctuary has managed to stay hidden from attack for so long, with this amount of magical energy running rampant, but perhaps that’s credited to the guardian keeping watch over it. 

The guardian that is sitting behind the desk in front of him. “Have you gotten yourself settled in?” she asks, pouring tea from the pot into two ceramic cups on the desk. “––Looked around the place, met the children?” 

Sasuke makes a sardonic noise, wondering if she meant the last bit as a joke. “They’re all so suspicious,” he says. “Even the younger ones avoid me like I’m a disease.” 

Aerith smiles softly behind the lip of the ceramic cup. “Many of these children don’t have anything but the Sanctuary and the people inside it,” she tells him. “This is home, to them.” 

“Good. They’ll fight to protect it.” 

“Hmm... Just as you did?” 

Sasuke doesn’t reply. He thinks that it’s a little unfair for her to bring that up, but doesn’t say anything about that either. Instead, he takes an unceremoniously large gulp of his hot tea and slouches against his chair, letting out a long sigh. 

Looking at the woman sitting in front of him, Sasuke can see why the children at the sanctuary respect her as much as they do, despite the natural inclination for rebellion at their age. He wonders, though, if they realize it—if they can see her as he does. 

She looks of ancient, archaic magic, and power beyond comprehension. 

“Are the other Artifacts in storage?” He asks instead. 

Aerith gives him a quiet, knowing smile. He scowls.

“Yes, they’re in the lower level,” she answers, graciously allowing the change of subject. “Shall I show you where they are?” But she’s already moving, setting her cup down on the desk and heading towards the door. 

“Hm.” Sasuke stands up and follows her out the office. 

They pass through the dark hallways, eerily silent and devoid of life in the slumbering wake of nightfall. There’s a door at the end of the hall, half-hidden in shadow and inconspicuous enough that one’s eye would pass over it on any other day. After descending down several flights of stairs, they soon arrive at a set of doors to which Aerith unlocks with a key taken from amongst the multitude that hang on a large ring on her belt. 

With a groaning creak, the doors open to a large, circular chamber. Lanterns light up, one by one, their pale blue werelights illuminating the walls upon which uniform rows of large, black cases are mounted. But Sasuke knows what lies within each of those cases, can tell which weapons they each hold despite their identical appearance. 

Double sabres to short daggers to a colossal claymore, from a dragoon lance to a great bow to a battle axe––they come in all different shapes and sizes, no two the same. Though inanimate objects, they exude an ancient, powerful presence as if each one is a dormant beast waiting to be someday unleashed. In a way, the analogy is quite accurate. It is how these weapons were designed to be, after all. 

Stepping into the chamber, Sasuke looks up at these legendary Artifacts with an expression akin to apprehension… and a little bit of _nostalgia_. How long has it been since he’s held one of them in his own hands? 

“Take as much time as you want,” says Aerith. She steps back, smiling serenely at him. “Good night, little Sentinel.” 

Sasuke eyes her like he wants to argue against that statement, tell her that he’s _centuries_ too old to be called that particular moniker, but he’s stubborn and obstinate, not stupid. Aerith, for all that she looks and behaves like a normal, happy young woman, is still the Keeper of Grounds, Watcher of the Stars; an ancient entity of old that dwarfs him by centuries, if not a couple millennia. So he dips his chin in a shallow nod, as close to respect as he can get these days. 

He waits until Aerith has disappeared out the door before he turns his attention back to his front. 

Walking along the length of the circular chamber with its pillars and its high, domed ceiling that exudes a low, droning vastness, Sasuke runs his knuckles along the carved edges of the wall. Some of the Artifacts are missing, their places amongst the ranks where they would otherwise reside—barren, taken to be used by the era’s current generation of Sentinels. 

He stops at an Artifact that the very end of the row. Takes it from its mount and opens the case. 

For a while, he doesn’t move. Just… looks at it. 

It isn’t like him to be caught up in something such as _memory lane_ , but seeing the last remnants that remain of the past era, of his era, seem to have dug up some memories he’d thought had been long since buried. 

The Artifact in front of him is a grand, mighty thing. A buster sword that nearly reaches his head in height and heavier than a grown man, inlaid with the charms and enchantments and blood seals that hold it all together. It is one of the largest Artifacts, but Sasuke remembers its user wielding it with laughable ease, cleaving through his enemies with grace and speed despite the weapon’s obvious weight and bulk. 

He remembers the massive destruction it had dealt at its user’s hands, built to be catastrophic on an enormous scale, but at the expense of its user’s own magical strength. An Artifact reserved only for the greatest powerhouses of the time, with reservoirs as vast as the ocean. 

It had been Naruto’s Artifact. 

Sasuke takes it out of its casing, resting the tip on the floor and turning it around to inspect the runes that had been carved into the ancient weapon. The enchantments have loosened, the charms have weakened considerably, and the seals are on the verge of falling apart. Such a state of disrepair is within reason, since the last time these weapons have been properly maintained and cared for would be about a thousand years ago. Sasuke can’t imagine there is anyone alive in the current century that knew how to, since nearly all knowledge from the era of the Ancients had been destroyed in the Second Devastation. 

The blood seals will have to go. They’re nearly obsolete, and no amount of reinforcement will restore them to adequate form. He’ll have to rewrite them. He’ll have to do the same for the rest of the Artifacts, if they are all as badly-maintained as this one. It will be twice as difficult, with only one arm as well. 

The night will be a long one.

* * *

Young Zack Fair creeps down the stairway, peering curiously around the dark corridor when he reaches the bottom. He’d woken up earlier, in the part of the morning where it was morning but the sun hasn’t come out yet, and it had been on his way back from the bathroom that he noticed an opened door he’d ever noticed before. All his life he’s lived at the Sanctuary and he’s never once heard of a hidden underground level so deep below it. And here he thought he’s explored every nook and cranny in the place! 

Maybe there’s some sort of ancient treasure buried away somewhere down here, Zack speculates, as a set of doors with blue light spilling out of them catch his eye. Creeping up to them, he peeks in through the crack left by one of the half-opened doors and stifles a noise of surprise. 

It’s the new Mentor. Zack and the other children have always been told to stay away from the people from the kingdom’s military whenever they come to stay for indefinite amounts of time. Zack’s fine with it anyway; none of the Mentors have ever been really good at mentoring anything, just watching the kids and sometimes taking notes. While untrue in a handful of individuals, in most cases these Mentors look at Zack and the others like they are things to study—subjects for scientific research. The Mentors don’t look at them like they are living beings. Zack wonders if this one is going to be the same. 

At the time being though, Zack’s mind is preoccupied with the sight before him—an expansive chamber, dimly lit with blue were-lights, with a series of strange boxes hung up on the walls. Some of them have been taken off their mountings, and opened off to the side, displaying an assortment of weapons he’d never seen before. And the new Mentor is in the middle of it all, amidst a glowing array of starlight that hung like a hemispherical spider web around him. 

Zack watches with wide eyes as the man reaches up to touch an orb of light, and it chimes happily in response, sending off a series of reactions as the light jumps from orb to orb. 

It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. 

“Come out. I know you’re there.” 

Startled, Zack jerks his gaze back to look at the Mentor and freezes at the sight of a crimson eye. Black tomoe spin lazily against an iris as red as spilled blood, pulsing with immeasurable power. This is a gaze that a person shouldn’t really have. Sephiroth’s green cat-slit eyes are inhuman but this is a thousand-yard stare that pierces straight into his soul. 

“Heh heh…” Zack steps into full view, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He smiles like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar and ignores the way the tomoe in the man’s red eye spins around his pupil once before resuming their usual pace. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop,” he says, even as his gaze wanders around the chamber he’s entered, unable to hide his curiosity. 

“What is this place?” He can’t help but ask. “And, uh, what are you doing?” 

Sasuke makes a few complicated hand motions and the intricate construction of charms and enchantments he was in the middle of fine tuning assembles neatly back into the Artifact it makes. 

“What are these weird old weapons? They look like Artifacts. Are these Artifacts? I didn’t know there are so many of them! And what’s up with the glowing thingies? How’d you—“ 

_“Hey.”_

Zack’s mouth snaps shut with a click at the sudden interjection from the man, who seemed to have been ignoring him up until now. 

“—You ask too many questions,” is all what Sasuke says eventually. He hopes the kid will leave soon, but given the amount of enthusiasm being shoved in his face at this ungodly hour in the morning, he doesn’t put much heart in it. 

True to his expectations, the boy doesn’t last one minute before opening his mouth again. “Sooo, you’re the new Mentor… Sasuke Uchiha, right? I’m Zack!” 

“Hm,” Sasuke grunts in reply. “Don’t touch that,” he says when he sees Zack reach for an Artifact in its casing. He hasn’t had the chance to restore that one yet. 

“Aw, but why?” 

“If it comes in contact with your magic, it might explode.” 

Zack jumps away in surprise. “Yikes,” he says, then turns the focus of his curiosity onto Sasuke, who almost sighs in exasperation. “So then why’re you here? Isn’t it dangerous for you too?” 

Maybe the kid will go away faster if Sasuke just answers all his questions. “I’m doing maintenance on the Artifacts. I know how to handle them.” 

“Maintenance? You can do that?” Zack exclaims in surprise. “Wait, the Artifacts need maintenance?” 

“It’s important. Many of them have been neglected for so long, they’re in danger of falling apart.” 

“Whoa! How come no one’s done maintenance until now?” 

Sasuke doesn’t answer. Zack cocks his head to the side, curiously, like a young pup who doesn’t know better. 

“And you have to do it for all of them?” 

“Yeah.” 

Zack looks around at the multitude of weapons hanging on the wall. “Won’t that take a long time for one person to do?” he asks. “Why not have more people work on it?” 

“Because,” Sasuke nearly hisses through his teeth, because Zack is just a hair’s breadth shy of stomping on some very sensitive topics he doesn’t feel like revisiting. “Because there is _no one else alive who can."_

The amount of vitriol contained in that response stops Zack in his tracks. “Oh,” he says, more subdued, because he might act like an annoying kid at times but he knows how to recognize loss and deeply buried grief when it’s there. “…Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Sasuke snaps and makes to leave. On his way out, he spares a glance at the boy who had interrupted his work, to study him closer. 

Wild black hair and bright blue-violet eyes the color of a dimming twilight sky, tanned skin and trained muscles and topping him half a head in height, but a face that had not quite grown out of the soft roundness of childhood. Zack Fair is bright and brazen and terribly young. _Gods._

Looking at him is like looking at Naruto when they had been still inexperienced and naive and hadn’t quite yet become the legendary warriors they will be eventually hailed as. It’s like a slap to the face, even now, with all the years he’s had to come to terms with the fact that everyone is gone. 

(Though he hadn’t so much as reconciled himself to it as he did his best to shove it as deep into the back of his mind as possible, because he’s always been more skilled at avoiding his problems than confronting them.) 

(This is a mistake. He shouldn’t have ever come here.) 

* * *

The battle had begun and it had been just like every other battle he fought in––loud, chaotic, and timeless. The Colossi attacked and destroyed, and the Sentinels rose up to meet them mid-way, like two sides of a scale that are always in balance, one side never really able to completely conquer the other. 

The end of the battle, however, was nothing like how it usually went. His comrades fought with ferocious fervor, but he could only watch as they fell, one by one, to the monstrous might of the unknown Tenth Colossus that had suddenly appeared, horrifyingly more powerful than any colossus any of them had ever faced. 

It had appeared out of nowhere, and it devoured the other nine Colossi whole. 

He’d fought until there were only three of his own left, out of the many they had before, until that three dropped to two when Sakura, her magical stores long since depleted to a life-threateningly low after healing so many of them back to life only to have them fall later on, took a hit that left her with only half her torso remaining. 

A wretched cry left him, long and guttural and _infinitely furious_ , but he was tiring also, his body trembling with fatigue and his white-knuckled grip on his sword nearly molded into such permanence than he thought he’d never be able to let go. 

“Sasuke!’ a voice called out and he was wrenched to the side, narrowly avoiding an energy beam that boiled the air not inches from his face. Rolling behind a boulder that probably had been a part of the ground before it had been turned into a battlefield, he turned to look at whisker curse-marks standing out stark against tanned skin, blue eyes blazing bright. 

Naruto, who was covered in mud and blood and exhaustion like Sasuke was, who said, “Sasuke, we have to do it.” 

Sasuke’s eye widened. “No,” he said, protested, because if he lost Naruto too he didn’t think his heart would be able to take it. “No, you _moron_ ––”

“It’s the only way,” Naruto cut him off, and gods, this was so wrong if _Sasuke_ was the one insisting that there would be another way, any other way, than the one that would cost the last of his precious people. 

“It’s not––” 

But Naruto wasn’t listening, he cut Sasuke off with a kiss that sucked all the words from his lips, warm and fierce and overwhelming _compassionate._

“Sorry, I’m being really selfish,” Naruto whispered against his lips, breaking off the kiss. “But you’re the only one who can do it for me. I…” he didn’t look at his arm, or rather the one that wasn’t there anymore, lost in the first and last time he had done this previously in a desperate situation, but it was implied. “I don’t think I can.” 

This was a desperate situation. Much more desperate, even, than any other. The circumstances couldn’t have been more dire. But Sasuke almost didn’t care. 

Almost, because he thought of the possibility that no one would survive, a possibility that grew the longer this battle drew out, that the Colossus would be unleashed to wreck the world freely as it pleased, and no one would be able to stop it. Healthy, fruitful earth that the Colossus steps on would turn to dry deserts and the bodies of water around it would be turned to death beds that only yielded poison and acid. 

He imagined the world as a ruinous landscape, eaten up until there was only disaster and devastation and tragedy. 

They’d discussed the possibility before, had devised this plan as an end-of-the-world last ditch solution. It would be much more potent than anything they’d ever attempted before. A spell of utter annihilation, that wiped out all lifeforms caught in its path. The world will regrow and dust will give birth to new life, but only at the price of a mortal sacrifice. 

The battle had become a last stand. 

Before Sasuke could say anything more, Naruto had already caught the back of his neck and brought his forehead to rest against his. Like this, Sasuke could see every detail, every flutter of Naruto’s pale blonde eyelashes, every speck of dirt and grime left on his face from the three-week long battle. Meeting his eyes one last time, Naruto gave him a smile, cracked lips parting to reveal a sharp grin full of teeth, bright and brash and unabashed even in the face of imminent obliteration. 

Then Naruto started to chant. Powerful magic rose up around them, a cyclone that unleashed waves of power that rattled the very air around them. 

“Stop,” Sasuke protested half-heartedly over the sound of crashing energy. But he _knew_. Naruto would be the battery, the one who powered the spell because only he had the magical reservoirs required for it, and Sasuke would be the one who carried it out. The executor. 

Fragment by fragment, in atoms and particles like raindrops in midair, Sasuke felt Naruto’s magic core drain away. Naruto kept his eyes steadily on Sasuke, even while his own form began to grow weak and flicker, like a faulty screen, like a candle about to go out. Sasuke clutched him tightly, as if his grip on Naruto would prevent what they both knew would happen once Naruto’s core was truly and utterly depleted. 

“You'll do it fine, Sasuke,” Naruto said, and he’s more than half gone now, but regardless of what he must be enduring he doesn’t so much as twitch. “Show this asshole what you got.” 

“Self-sacrificing idiot. Why are you giving me everything, Naruto?” Sasuke asked him, breathless, because it felt like his lungs were about to give out from the sheer immensity of the power he was holding, his eardrums on the verge of popping from the deafening roar of swirling magic around them. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, though––this tragic, _beautiful_ , gradual death of something so precious. 

“I wouldn’t give the man I love anything less.” Naruto let out one last laugh, warm and fond and loving, and then even the echo is gone. There was nothing left but the blinding brilliance of manifested power and the magical circles that have yet to be acted upon. 

Naruto’s magic was beautiful. The polar opposite of Sasuke’s own––his was a quiet sort, mere starlight next to Naruto’s brilliant solar flare. Naruto was vibrant red-orange like the pulsing burning hot embers of a fire pit, a blazing maelstrom of heat and wind that whirled around him when he stopped pulling stops in a fight and turned into the demon of battle that he is. 

He was a god, and everyone had recognized that. 

He… had been _Sasuke’s_ god.

(Once, so long ago that he barely remembered, an elder had told Sasuke, “Falling in love with a god is not a death sentence. The story is only a tragedy if the god loves you back.”)

Sasuke loved him. And Naruto loved him in return. And now, Sasuke was the only one who remained. 

Hands grasping at empty air now, Sasuke fell forward on his knees, fingers digging into dirt churning with magical energy. 

A sob caught on his breath, but Sasuke only turned it inward on itself, where it transformed into a cold, hard _rage_. That wrath comes out of him in a slow cry that crawls out from his throat, gut-wrenching and _desolate_ , and he releases the spell. 

The world ignites.


	2. The Constructs

Sasuke wakes with a loud, choking gasp, like a drowned man breaking the water’s surface, jolting violently and hand ripping its way out of its trap in the bed sheets that had tangled up around himself, coming up to clutch at the phantom pain of an arm being disintegrated. The empty socket in his left eye _burns_ , one half of his vision gone along with half of his magic. 

An arm and an eye taken from him because even Naruto’s sacrifice hadn’t been nearly enough for what that awful spell was intended for. 

Memories of that final battle rise up unbidden from the deep dredges of his subconscious, memories of a ruined battlefield that looked as if painted straight from the hellish mind of some twisted, infernal artist. Memories of being born into war, of decades spent trapped in a battle that never seemed to end, with the people who fought alongside him the only things that kept the last strings of his sanity from snapping. 

The very same people he had been forced to watch fall before his eyes, one by one. Their blood running like rich wine, turning the earth to dark mud. Their armor half-melted and charred black, fingers still clenched around their weapons as if unwilling to stop fighting even in death. Wildfires that had started up here and there, spreading and eating up their dead flesh. Fires that were the total opposite to the ones that had burned bright and true within Naruto—these were the kinds of flames that burned, consumed, and destroyed the world without a single thought for innocence or justice. 

It’s true when they used to say the Sharingan is a curse of his bloodline—when there used to be people who knew about the Sharingan—an eye that sees the truth of the world exactly as it is. Unable to forget, unable to soften the jagged edges of trauma with time. Every single detail is seared into his mind just as clear as he’d seen it on that terrible day. 

He finds himself _trembling_ in the violent wake of the dream, slowly sliding his hand up his face to his hair, then clenching his fingers hard in the wild locks. The sharp pain would’ve worked to snap him out of it if it had been an illusion spell, but against his own memories it only serves as temporary distraction. 

His control is slipping away, like wet paint in the rain, and he can’t do anything about it. 

A mind full of burnt ground and broken earth, of smoke and ash alike billowing steadily up into the blackened sky. A mind full of shattered dreams and broken hearts, and he doesn’t notice the arms wrapping around his hunched shoulders, the gentle hands upon his lowered head until moments after the fact. 

A frayed, ragged breath rattles out from his mouth, like there is something falling apart inside of him. “I destroyed the world,” he whispers brokenly to Aerith, mind overwhelmed by horror. “Everyone is _gone._ ” 

“You saved the world,” she murmurs. Her hands guide his head down to rest against her shoulder, tucked protectively beneath her chin like a child. 

His hand is trembling uncontrollably, and he grips the bedsheets spilled around him, grips it so tight the fabric is in danger of ripping apart. “Everything’s the same. I don’t recognize any of it, but all the worst bits of it are still here. I couldn't get rid of the Colossi, but I erased my home.” 

“You gave the world a _future._ A new chance,” she reassures him, again and again. “New life has been reborn upon the lands you saved, and although the creatures who live on it have changed, it is still the same world.

“Shh,” she hushes him, stroking his back and running her fingers through his hair, “It‘s over. You’re here, you’re with me, you’re safe. It is peaceful here. You’ve done well, my faithful soldier. Let the torch be passed along to the next generation. Now, you may rest.” 

The Sentinel Sasuke Uchiha turns and buries his face in her neck, breathing in the clean, sweet scent of her. The smells of laundry, of the sunshine in her clothes from working in the gardens, of deep and ancient and eternally benevolent magic. So different from ash and burning flesh and the blood of his comrades spilled on a field too wretched to be their graveyard. 

“Rest,” he repeats, doubt in the word. “I don’t think I can.” 

“…Shall I make us some chamomile?” 

“No! No.” The last legend of the past says, softer, “...Stay. Just… please stay.” Uncharacteristically polite, when he thought he’d run dry of his care for manners and respect years ago when he’d awoken to a familiar world that was nothing like what he remembered. 

So she stays, allows him to wrap his arm around her. Her magic comes around him, wrapping around them both, all-encompassing and vast and old as the planet itself. Aerith is a goddess in the skin of a girl, the Warden of the Sanctuary, but at this moment she is simply someone who is offering him comfort in the aftermath of a memory-fueled nightmare. 

She is so patient, so unendingly gentle towards him. Sasuke can’t help it, despite a lifetime of endurance and training himself to conceal his weaknesses, of forbidding himself from showing vulnerability like this. 

(Every soldier becomes a child again in their mother’s embrace.)

* * *

Eventually Sasuke’s put himself back together enough that his vision has cleared, his hands have stopped shaking, and he becomes suddenly aware of his position: tucked beneath Aerith’s chin, his arm around a delicate waist, fingers tangled in soft fabric. He doesn’t quite flinch away, but it’s close enough. 

Aerith gives him a quiet, understanding smile, even as Sasuke feels his face grow warm. His ears are definitely red; a clear tell that he’s had since childhood, never able to train himself out of it. 

“The children will be waking up soon. Won’t you join us for breakfast this time?” 

Sasuke is silent for a moment, then––

“…I’ll be down in a minute.”

* * *

“Good morning Angeal, Genesis.” Cloud greets as he takes a seat next to Angeal. Angeal murmurs out a low “mornin’” back, while Genesis only makes a distracted noise of acknowledgement, and stabs his eggs with a fork. 

“So what’s up with Genesis today?” Cloud asks curiously, while pouring out a generous helping of honey onto his waffles. He tilts his head towards the mentioned redhead, who sat slightly off to the side eating his eggs in a manner than can only be described as _aggressive._

“Just the new Mentor. He’s still here.” Angeal takes a bite of his sausage as he watches the continuous stream of honey being poured out onto the other’s plate in sick fascination. “Must’ve thought that he’d be gone by morning,” he adds, after swallowing.”To be honest, I thought the same.” 

“Huh. I haven’t seen him much since the guy arrived two days ago.” Cloud pushes his waffles around in the pool of honey until it is evenly covered on all sides in a thick, sweet coat. 

Angeal makes a sound of amusement. “You know, Cloud, food is meant to be eaten, not used to make art… or whatever you do on your plate.” 

All he receives is a grin and an unabashed “I know,” before Cloud bites into his honey-dripping waffle gleefully. 

Soon enough, they’re joined by Sephiroth, Zack following closely after. They all say their good mornings and start on eating breakfast. Around them, children and teens sit at similar tables in the common area, talking and eating as well. 

Suddenly Genesis stabs his fork into the table. The fork sinks into the table like it is made of butter instead of wood, making his tablemates look at him. His eyes are narrowed and sparking with aggravation, fixated on something in the distance. 

They follow his gaze, turning to see that the Mentor had come into the cafeteria, like a dark phantom trespassing sacred grounds. Aerith, who had been attending to some of the younger children, looks up and smiles at him. There’s something _haunted_ lingering in the single dark eye of Sasuke Uchiha, and the two share a look that seems to include some sort of silent conversation before Aerith gets up and walks over. 

When she hands him a filled plate and a glass of juice, Aerith stands up on the tips of her toes to place an affectionate kiss on his forehead while his hands were full. The man’s only reaction was to slightly duck his head downwards to give her easier reach, and other than a long-suffering sigh, doesn’t exhibit any surprise at being mothered in such a way by the woman. 

Genesis makes a noise of deeply offended surprise. “Who is this Sasuke Uchiha?” he asks indignantly. “What sort of relationship does he have with our dear Aerith?” 

“Did she do that with any of the other ones? I don’t remember seeing her act like that towards any of them,” Angeal muses, rubbing a thumb on his chin in thought. 

“I agree,” says Sephiroth gravely. “Aerith has never shown this much affection towards any previous Mentor. What do you think is so special about him?” 

“Perhaps he has some sort of blackmail on her,” Genesis murmurs darkly. “Perhaps he’s threatening her.” 

“Uh, guys,” Cloud interjects. He’s still eating, drowning a berry in whipped cream before popping it in his mouth. He continues, words slightly muffled. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Aerith looks… genuinely happy that he’s here. Maybe they already knew each other from before or something. Maybe they’re just friends?” 

“Maybe he’s just an evil, slimy bastard who is manipulating her in some neferious way, and I say we chase him out like a rabid dog,” Genesis mutters nastily. He makes a face. “And must you talk while eating? Have some common decency, Cloud.” 

“I can’t help it.” Cloud spoons more whipped cream onto the pile of fruit of his plate, adding brown sugar on top after a thought. “I’m _hungry._ ” 

“Still experiencing the hunger?” Angeal looks sympathetic. “I remember that, it wasn’t fun. Though on average it should only last about a month or two. Hasn’t it been longer than that already?” 

Cloud groans in despair. “Six months. It’s not my fault I was designed so inefficiently.” 

“It will pass,” Sephiroth says. “The hunger abated at the end of the sixth-month mark for me.” 

“Thank the gods, that means I only have a week to go.” 

“––Though my hunger never made quite so… creative masterpieces.” 

Cloud eyes the sweet, sugary mountain on his plate. “Oh, shut it.” 

“Must be tough, being hungry this long,” Zack sympathizes, as he steals a raspberry from the pile and pops it in his mouth. 

Cloud gasps with profound outrage, snatching his plate away before Zack can take any more. “Thief!” he accuses. “I’m eating for seven souls and you’re stealing food from me?” 

Zack snickers. “You sound like a pregnant lady.” 

Cloud growls at him. Like an animal. Zack makes cooing noises back at him. 

“Be patient,” Angeal pats Cloud’s head in consolation, before the situation can escalate to another food fight. “Wait for the Unification to finish and you’ll be fine, Cloud.” 

Cloud huffs, but avoids having to reply by stuffing a spoonful of sugar-strewn, cream-covered fruit into his mouth. His blonde hair sticks out in wild spikes from his head, and he looks entirely too similar to a ruffled chocobo for his indignance to be anything but irresistibly endearing. 

(Behind his bangs, however, his eyes glow bright with unconcealed power, the blues of his irises an iridescent, untamed churning sea of magical energy. 

Despite his youth, Cloud is on average the most powerful of them all, technically speaking. Like Sephiroth, Cloud also so happens to be made of seven souls, one of the only two constructs to ever be successfully created with that many.)

“You’ve been awfully under-spoken his morning, Zack,” Genesis remarks. Then, because clearly he hasn’t given up on the topic of conversation before, “What do you think of our new darling Mentor?” 

“Ehh, just had an early morning,” answers Zack easily. At the mention of the Mentor, he looks over. 

Sasuke Uchiha had settled himself on a stool at the kitchen counter. He’s bit separated from the rest of them, yet gave himself an ideal location to keep an eye on the cafeteria’s occupants, with an exit at easy access nearby. (The habits of a soldier, or a war veteran.)

“I don’t know,” says Zack. “He seems like a pretty decent guy.” He shrugs. _Just lonely,_ he thinks, thinking of his encounter with the man, _and lost._

“And you got that simply by looking at the man?” 

“Actually, I met him yesterday.” 

“What?” This time it’s Angeal who speaks, straightening up a bit in his seat. “Where? When? What were you doing with him alone?” 

Zack rolls his eyes at Angeal’s overprotectiveness rearing its big head. “I’m fine! We just talked for a bit,” he says. Pauses. Then, “Hey, did you know that the Artifacts need maintenance?” 

“Maintenance? I’ve never heard of it.” Angeal furrows his brow in thought. “And why the change in subject?” 

“Well, apparently, they do. And the Mentor‘s here to do it. That’s what he was doing when I found him.” 

“ _Maintenance_ for the Artifacts? That sounds too suspicious,” says Genesis, whose default has never been to accept things the way they are presented to him. 

But it’s true––to them, it’s rather difficult to believe that objects as ancient and legendary as the Artifacts would need something as mundane as _maintenance._

“It sounds reasonable enough, though my question is why it hasn’t been brought up before. The Artifacts are, at their base core, merely very powerful weapons,” Sephiroth points out, always the voice of logic. “However supernatural or magical they are, any weapon still needs regular maintenance and repair after each battle.” 

“Correct.” 

At the new voice, they all turn to see Aerith standing at their table. She has that knowing smile on her lovely face, the one she always gets when she knows something but won’t interfere except to give cryptic gentle guidance if needed. Behind her, Sasuke Uchiha stands somewhat awkwardly, discomfort evident in the way he twitches nearly imperceptibly at every loud noise in the common room. 

“The Artifacts have needed repair and fine-tuning for a while now, and we’ve been searching for someone who had the knowledge and capability,” Aerith tells them pleasantly. “Luckily, Sasuke showed up just in time.” 

“I see,” Sephiroth says, head tilted in an incremental degree that tells anyone who knows him well that he’s currently making the mental connections, solving the riddle. “That is why you wanted to see our Artifacts.” 

Sasuke goes for a noncommittal shrug first, then when Aerith slaps him on the arm, he quickly amends with, “That was my intention.” 

(He’s not wearing the Mentor‘s military uniform, Genesis notes. Instead, it’s an all-black attire, trousers with a slim-fit turtleneck that unintentionally exposes how much of his arm that’s missing––all the way up to his shoulder––the loose sleeve looks a bit disconcerting in contrast with the solid muscle of the remaining arm on the other side. 

Somehow the change in clothes combined with the man’s interaction with Aerith makes a whole new impression of Sasuke Uchiha. No less life-weary, no more friendly, but somehow more _guiltless.)_

“You could have told us from the beginning,” grumbles Genesis, not quite willing to let go of his spite just yet. “Well?” he says gruffly, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. “When would you like to take a look at them?” 

“…” That dark eye stares at them, unreadable in its depth. “Bring your Artifacts to the basement tonight.” 

He walks away. (Behind him, Cloud asks the rest, “We have a basement?”)

* * *

This is what Kakashi Hatake explains to his team on their first day of meeting: 

“Every outset squad has a specialization. You were all picked specifically for it, as your classmates were picked for theirs. You three are going to be trained as a high-risk offensive-defence squad. Do you understand what that means?”

“It––it means we’re going to be a heavy-hitter team?” Sakura quickly identifies the term, surprised. 

She was still growing her hair out long, then; the first Sentinel bred from her civilian family. A mind full of true love and pretty charms and sweet things, she’s a young girl with the sort of naive, short-sighted dreams that all children her age and background usually have. 

“Yes.” Kakashi looked at her and saw someone who would not survive a single battle with the Colossi. 

(He will lead her, like a young doe that doesn’t know any better, onto the path where that soft innocence will be stripped away brutally, replaced by iron will and battle-calm. She will follow him into a life where she will learn that there is no place for young, pretty things, no place for crushes or ideals or dreams––and at the end of it there will only be a seasoned soldier forged in the fire of violence, an apex predator whose hands can stitch hearts back together in one moment, then turn around to destroy entire mountains in the next.) 

(He will regret it. But that generation will see the awakening of three of the greatest Sentinels history will ever know.) 

He explained, “You three will be the first responders, the distraction team, the tanks, the team that will always be handed the most risky and dangerous role in major operations. You will be the first assault and the final retreat, our first line of defense and the main offense team of any battle. When the kingdom is threatened, it will be you three who will be out there, facing the threat first. You will be taught the most powerful spells that the kingdom has to offer, once your magical alignments have been named, and trained in the most heavy-handed battle tactics. Your duty as a squad does not concern yourselves with politics or stealth, no, you are a team designed for dealing as much damage as possible no matter the cost––the three of you will be the blunt force object of the kingdom.” 

Naruto, whose blue eyes shone bright in the sun and whose immense fount of innate raw power burned even brighter from within, thinks of winning battles and conquering monsters. He fills his head full of imagined scenes in which he saves the day and becomes the hero, and he finally gets the recognition he had to fight for all his life. 

(Years of the lonely, desolate, unkempt apartment, years of streets being cleared of people as he walked them, of dark things whispered behind his back and barbed things shouted at his face––he’d get them to look at him someday! To truly look at him and see another human being, instead of an object of their hate.)

(The cheerful smile he wore on his face was still sometimes entirely fake––an armored mask to hide the fact that he had been dying a slow death, that he had been stricken with a terminal disease called unhappiness and loneliness and the knowledge that every adult in his life had failed him, and he had no one to rely on but himself. But he didn’t know that he was already on his way, already starting the beginnings of his own little makeshift family of precious people––in a few years, he would have more than enough reason to smile and laugh.) 

And then there was Sasuke. Young and sullen and infinitely foolish. He held onto the deaths of his family with a white-knuckled grip, almost desperate in how he never wants to let them stray from the forefront of his mind, afraid that his rage and hate might somehow slip away. 

(He was a grief-stricken orphan who was about to lose the last of his clan’s home to property taxes, who struggled to wash his laundry and cook his eggs because those who would have taught him are all lost forever to him now. The thought of his brother coming back to finish the job keeps him up at night and warm water showers remind him of his parents’ blood soaking into his clothes, on his skin, in the very follicles of his hair.) 

(HIs vision of “powerful” was a misguided, childish half-concept and he would learn the truth soon, but not soon enough.) 

This was the beginning of Team Seven.

* * *

Every Sentinel child was taught the techniques and know-hows of repairing and taking care of an Artifact. The ancient ways have been passed down from generation to generation, taken and improved upon over and over again. 

Sasuke feels the eyes on him as he pushes delicately at a glowing rune, sending sparks pinging through the network of spells that hangs suspended in space around him. 

The four teens, accompanied by Aerith, stand on the sidelines, watching intently. Even Aerith seems to be taking the opportunity to observe. 

(“Even after hundreds of years watching you Sentinels fine tune your instruments hundreds of times more, I will never tire of the sight.” Aerith had once told him. Sasuke doesn’t really have anything to say to that. He knows how the show looks like to civilians, but to him there is nothing all that extraordinary about the Artifacts. It’s as natural to him as ink, or using a pencil to write. It just–– _is_.) 

The blonde one from that morning is absent, having been forbidden from going with them. Sasuke could tell his magic was just beginning to settle––nowhere near enough for him to trust going anywhere near the Artifacts––already unstable and volatile as they are. 

(He counts himself lucky that particular combination of blonde spikey hair and blue eyes doesn’t quite trigger memories of another man he knew in the past; the face is too different, features too dainty, and the magic far too foreign that mistaking it for Naruto's seems laughable. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to stay sane in the Sanctuary if he keeps on hallucinating ghosts and echoes of people he once knew.) 

The Artifact in front of him is a zweihander, a longsword wielded two-handedly and meant for fluid, sweeping movements, for stagger and for stun value. The uncurved, double-edged blade coupled with the quillion-type crossguard gave it a sort of religious element to it. Out of the three Artifacts he had been presented with that night, it was the most used and most worn down, on the verge of destabilizing altogether. 

One of the older ones, crafted and forged by breath by the Second Hokage himself. 

It holds the man’s reputable talent for storm-calling; the runes that makes up most of the blade being runes for water and lightning, and a bit of wind. All swift, wild, free-flowing elements and very little else to ground them. Powerful, but dangerous. A lesser wielder would be torn to bits if one were to attempt it. 

No wonder it was given to the oldest of the Sanctuary’s wards. Sephiroth must have worked himself bloody to tame the wild nature of the weapon. 

Sasuke runs his fingers through the spell network, humming in satisfaction when the rejuvenated runes and enchantments, having been thoroughly renewed and revived, give a clear, chiming feedback. 

“That’s a sight to see,” comes quietly from the group standing by the doorway. Angeal rubs his chin, a look of open admiration on his face as the man named Sasuke reassembles Sephiroth’s Artifact, all the little starlights sliding neatly into place beneath the man’s delicate ministrations. 

As Sasuke puts the sword back into its case and opens the next, Genesis makes a dissatisfied sound. 

“It is quite pretty,” he allows, “But why do we have to sit out all the way back here? The Artifacts are our responsibility, we should be learning how to do this ourselves. The fact that we weren’t aware of these procedures is preposterous in itself already.” 

The response comes from the man himself in the center of the chamber. “Actually, anything regarding the Artifacts is my responsibility.” 

“And why is that?” 

“…” Sasuke turns oddly quiet, even as the Artifact in his hand springs outward around him in a glowing array of magic, like a thousand microscopic constellations. 

Aerith comes to his rescue. “Sasuke is somewhat of an… _expert_ on things from the era of the Ancients,” she tells them with a smile. 

Genesis raises his eyebrows. “A scholar, is he?” 

Doubt is high in his voice. Sasuke Uchiha looks nothing of the sort. Too young to be a historian, and no professor in the academics these days would likely be in a place to lose an entire arm. 

Sasuke shows no reaction to his doubt on his face, keeping it carefully as emotional as a rock. “…I guess.” 

Aerith giggles a bit at that, and for some reason, Sasuke now looks a bit uncomfortable. 

The chamber is once again awash in a vast, slightly reverent silence as Sasuke works through the second Artifact—this one a smaller claymore, simpler in design but no less effective. 

This young generation of Sentinels, Sasuke noted, seem to favor sword-type Artifacts quite a lot. 

He could make an educated guess and say that it was mostly due to the system that was put in place in this era; the system that allowed the world’s current population to create a whole new race just for the sake of wielding the Artifacts, just to protect their own civilizations. Made in the royal laboratories and confined to the Sanctuary to grow and train until they were old enough to choose an Artifact of their own. Similar education system, similar ways of thinking gained in mostpart through natural osmosis and growing up in similar environments. 

The Artifacts are not mere tools to be taken and used at any discretion. It works very similarly to summoning contracts (when knowledge of that sort of magic still could be found), or even marriage. The Artifacts, particularly the more powerful ones, have always had _temperaments_. Little quirks and unique wiles, slight touches of sentience will that have always made the process of a young Sentinel choosing an Artifact play not the role of the chooser, but the _chosen._

It had always been a great honor, whenever an Artifact chooses a new Sentinel to wield it. That day is one that is equally anticipated and dreaded, as it is the day on which the previous owner of the Artifact becomes unable to fight, whether through old age, irreparable injury, or defeat on the battleground. 

His hand starts to shake near the end of the third hour. He pauses in the middle of adjusting a runic pattern on the third Artifact (a thin rapier, slender and elegant, optimized for speed and agility), trying to quell the sudden little muscle spasms in his fingers. It was a clear tell of magical fatigue, and Sasuke nearly growls at it. 

He remembers a time when he was much, much stronger than whatever _this_ is. He remembers a time when he isn’t constantly scraping at rock-bottom because losing an arm and eye had dashed his magical output in half, until even suppressing it is a continuous drain on him. 

“What is he doing? I don’t understand why we can’t go closer to get a better look at what’s happening in that mess of a light show.” 

Zack shrugs and raises his hands in a _what can you do_ gesture. “He said something about how if we get too close while he’s messing with the Artifacts, they might explode because of how unstable it is. Something about our magic…?“ 

“What’s wrong with our magic?” Genesis frowns while Sasuke quickly finishes up with his Artifact. When everything is returned to their cases and secured, Sasuke turns to them. 

“You four are powerful.” He says quietly without a transition. Then he goes on to explain, “Everyone in the Sanctuary is magically powerful, but not a single one of you know how to control any of it.” 

“What do you mean?” Genesis asks, a bit insulted. “Of course we know how to control our magic, we’re meant to wield the Artifacts.” 

“That’s how we’re built.” Angeal adds softly. 

Sasuke shakes his head. “No, you know how to brute-force your way through it—none of you even know the most basic principles of magic.” 

“And I suppose you’re an _expert_ on these matters as well? I don’t sense a lick of magic from you.” 

Sasuke’s lip twitches, but Genesis couldn’t tell if it was from annoyance or amusement. “The first principle of controlling your magic,” he says, carefully, “is learning how to hide it.” 

As Genesis frowns again, Sephiroth, who had been rather silent ever since Sasuke had opened up his Artifact like an architect looking at the blueprints of his work, murmurs, “I’ve never heard of this.” 

“You’ve never had a teacher to teach you,” Sasuke replies, then seems to register half a second later what exactly he had just blurted out. His eye widens. “No, wait—“ 

“That’s a _wonderful_ idea, Sasuke!” Aerith bulldozes over him so easily it’s nearly comical. “You can be their teacher!” 

“Aerith, I’m the last person you want near young, impressionable brats. I’ve never even taught anyone in my life—” 

“Well, you _are_ the Mentor here, and teaching is what Mentors do,” Aerith nods to herself. “And there’s always a first for everything, don’t you agree?” 

“I absolutely do no––” 

“He agrees,” Aerith cuts Sasuke off, beaming happily at everyone. Sasuke looks near the point of actually sputtering, but he clamps his mouth shut at the very last second when he’s leveled with a menacing glare he’d never thought Aerith could pull off so well. They all turn to stare as she glides out the door like a tiny, cheerful battleship. 

“Shit,” mutters Sasuke in the awkward silence that follows. He sighs like it’s a big annoyance, runs his hand through his hair, through it accomplishes nothing but making the back of it stick out in even a more wild fashion. 

He looks at the door where Aerith had gone out and back at the group of teens still standing in the chamber with him. He sighs again. (The word troublesome floats to the front of his mind and he nearly flinches before viciously shoving any reminders of the lazy, strangely charming mastermind, chief strategist of the Sentinels, back to the bottom where thousands of other faces of allies, of friends, festered.) 

“Lessons start tomorrow. Meet me in the courtyard after lunch.” 

Then Sasuke all but flees the basement, refusing to meet the bewildered eyes of his _new students._


End file.
